The Herald Crane From vocal pipe, or evermore shall rise, He snarls, and mews, and flies. William Henry Venable [1836 THE HERALD CRANE OH! Say you so, bold sailor In the sun-lit deeps of sky! Dost thou so soon the seed-time tell As circling in yon shoreless sea Thine unseen form goes drifting by? I cannot trace in the noon-day glare From the leaping might of the fiery light Mine eyes recoil in pain, But on mine ear, thine echoing cry Falls like a bugle strain. The mellow soil glows beneath my feet, Where lies the buried grain; The warm light floods the length and breadth On weary wing, plebeian geese Push on their arrowy line Straight into the north, or snowy brant In dazzling sunshine, gloom and shine; But thou, O crane, save for thy sovereign cry, On proud, extended wings sweep'st on In lonely, easeful flight. Then cry, thou martial-throated herald! Cry to the sun, and sweep And swing along thy mateless, tireless course 1535 Afloat on lazy air-cry on! Send down Thy trumpet note-it seems The voice of hope and dauntless will, And breaks the spell of dreams. Hamlin Garland [1860 THE CROW WITH rakish eye and plenished crop, Upon the naked ash-tree top The Crow sits basking in the sun. An old ungodly rogue, I wot! For, perched in black against the blue, His feathers, torn with beak and shot, Let woeful glints of April through. The year's new grass, and, golden-eyed, But doubtful still of frost and snow, TO THE CUCKOO HAIL, beauteous stranger of the grove! What time the daisy decks the green, Thy certain voice we hear: Or mark the rolling year? The Cuckoo Delightful visitant! with thee I hail the time of flowers, And hear the sound of music sweet 1537 The school-boy, wandering through the wood To pull the primrose gay, Starts, the new voice of Spring to hear, And imitates thy lay. What time the pea puts on the bloom, Thou fli'st thy vocal vale, An annual guest in other lands, Sweet bird! thy bower is ever green, Thy sky is ever clear; Thou hast no sorrow in thy song, O could I fly, I'd fly with thee! John Logan (1748-1788] THE CUCKOO WE heard it calling, clear and low, We heard it, ay, long years ago. It came, and with a strange, sweet cry, In dreamland then we found our joy, And so it seemed as 'twere the Bird That Helen in old times had heard At noon beneath the oaks of Troy. O time far off, and yet so near! It came to her in that hushed grove, It warbled while the wooing throve, It sang the song she loved to hear. And now I hear its voice again, And still its message is of peace, Frederick Locker-Lampson [1821-1895] TO THE CUCKOO O BLITHE New-comer! I have heard, I hear thee and rejoice. O Cuckoo! shall I call thee Bird, While I am lying on the grass Thy twofold shout I hear; From hill to hill it seems to pass, At once far off, and near. Though babbling only to the Vale Of sunshine and of flowers, Thou bringest unto me a tale Of visionary hours. Thrice welcome, darling of the Spring! Even yet thou art to me No bird, but an invisible thing, A voice, a mystery; The same whom in my school-boy days I listened to; that Cry Which made me look a thousand ways, To seek thee did I often rove Through woods and on the green; And thou wert still a hope, a love; Still longed for, never seen. He clasps the crag with crooked hands; The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls; Alfred Tennyson [1809-1892] THE HAWKBIT How sweetly on the autumn scene, The hawkbit shines with face of cheer, When days grow short and nights grow cold, It seems the spirit of a flower, |